Harlequin Kimani Romance September 2014 Bundle: Seduced by the Heir\Secret Silver Nights\Someone Like You\Indulge Me Tonight (3 page)

Paris followed Cassandra through the grand foyer and out the French doors. Music, laughter and the pungent scents of fresh fruit and flowers filled the night air. With a dry mouth and an erratic heartbeat, Paris stepped inside the tent, hoping Rafael was long gone. At the thought of him, blood rushed through her veins. Try as she might, she couldn't squelch the butterflies swarming around her stomach. He had a hold on her still, after all these years. One Paris didn't understand, and couldn't explain. Memories sneaked up on her, scrolled through her mind in slow motion. The first time they'd kissed and the nights they'd made love were deeply cherished memories, ones she had relived hundreds of times over the years, and nothing would ever change how much she'd once loved and adored Rafael Morretti.

Once loved him?
her conscience repeated.
When did you stop?

To that, Paris didn't have an answer.

Chapter 3

R
afael sat in the media room, playing chess with Stefano, but he was having a hell of a time concentrating on the game. His thoughts were on Paris. Had been from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Seeing his old college sweetheart again, after more than a decade, had his mind so twisted he couldn't think of anything
but
her. Stefano had won the last three games, and if that wasn't bad enough, he'd bragged about his landslide victories on Facebook and Twitter.

Realizing he didn't have a chance in hell of beating Stefano, Rafael threw his hands up in defeat and reclined in his leather chair. Low-hanging lights, plush furniture and colorful artwork gave the room a one-of-a-kind look. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, and the mouthwatering aroma made Rafael's stomach grumble. The wet bar was only a few feet away, but he was too tired to get up and fix himself a snack. It had been a day filled with surprises, and he still couldn't wrap his mind around Paris St. Clair being at his best friend's wedding celebration.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he contemplated calling it a night and heading upstairs to his bed. Paris was staying on the second floor, only three doors down from his room. And knowing that his ex—the woman he'd once loved more than anything in the world—was only a breath away would be the ultimate torture.

Rafael heard his cell phone chime, and glanced down at the coffee table to read the number on the screen. His eyes narrowed, hardened with disgust. It was Cicely Cohen. His ex-girlfriend. The woman who'd betrayed his trust for fifteen minutes of fame. She'd been blowing up his phone for weeks, had left dozens of teary voice mail messages, but Rafael hadn't returned her calls. Wasn't going to, either. He had nothing to say to her, and the sooner she got the hint the better. They were over for good, and there was no way in hell he was taking her back.

“Rafael, is everything okay? You seem distracted.”

“I'm cool, man. Don't worry about me,” he said. “How are
you
feeling? The big day is fast approaching, so if you're having second thoughts, now's a good time to skip town!”

Stefano wore a proud smile. “Proposing to Cassandra last year in Aruba was the best decision I ever made, and I can't wait for her to become Mrs. Stefano Via.”

“I'm glad to hear that. You're an incredible couple, and she definitely brings out the best in you.” Rafael wanted to say more, but stopped himself in the nick of time. He couldn't fire off questions about Paris—not without raising suspicion—so for now he'd just have to cool his heels. “Have you guys decided where you're going to live after you get married?”

“We're going to stay in England for the time being. We love living in London and now that my consulting firm has taken off, I'm in no rush to return to the States.”

“Congratulations, man. It sounds like everything has finally come together.” Rafael picked up his wine cooler and took a swig.

“Where's Nicco?” Stefano asked. “I thought he was joining us for a nightcap.”

“That's what he said, but Jariah probably had other ideas. My brother thinks he's running things, but make no mistake, his fiancée is the one in charge.”

Stefano chuckled, and nodded in agreement. “I know what
that's
like, but I wouldn't have it any other way. If my woman's happy, then I'm happy. Cassandra means the world to me, and I'll never let anything come between us.”

“You sound like an online dating ad!” Rafael joked.

“And you have no idea what you're missing. Now that I've found my soul mate I—”

“Have you met Paris's husband?” Rafael felt his cheeks burn, heard his pulse hammer in his ears, but faked a smile. It was too late to stuff the words back down his throat, and besides, he was curious to know about the man who'd captured his first love's heart.

“Who told you Paris was married?” Stefano asked, wearing a puzzled expression.

“She's not?”

His frown deepened, caused fine lines to wrinkle his forehead. “Nope, last time I checked she was single and ready to mingle!”

“But she's wearing a massive diamond ring on her left hand.”

“Paris loves jewelry. Most women do.”

Surprised, and oddly relieved by the news, Rafael pressed on. “Is she dating anyone?”

“Why? Are you interested?”

“I didn't come to Venice to make a love connection.”

“Nicco said you dated Paris in college. How come you never mentioned her?”

He shrugged. “Because we weren't serious.”

“Why did you guys call it quits?”

“What's with all the questions?”

“I just couldn't imagine you dating someone like Paris, that's all, and I wonder—”

“Someone like Paris?” he repeated, interrupting. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're polar opposites. She's a high-maintenance diva and you're Mr. Laid-back.”

Rafael thought about what his friend had said, wondering if there was any truth to it. In college, Paris had been the girl every guy wanted, and every girl wanted to be. But he couldn't recall her ever copping an attitude with him, or behaving like a diva. Loved by everyone, and admired by all, she'd easily made friends. She had shone as the student council president, and gained the respect and admiration of the faculty and staff, as well.

Had Paris changed? Was she like all the other shallow, materialistic women he'd had the misfortune of dating in the past? Unlike his friends, Rafael didn't flaunt his wealth, and derived great pleasure from the simple things in life. Hot summer days spent jogging through the park with his beloved dogs; spending Sunday afternoons playing golf and watching football. He'd yet to find someone who loved the great outdoors, and humanitarian work, and doubted he ever would. Most women he met were more interested in driving around town in his Bentley and dining at five-star restaurants than getting to know him as person. And since he had more than enough work to keep him busy, he had zero interest in the Washington dating scene.

“Paris loves to party, and you're a recluse, so you'd definitely make an odd pair.”

“Recluse? That's a stretch, don't you think?”

“No. The last time you went on a date Michael Jordan was still playing for the Bulls!”

Rafael had a zinger on his tongue, one he knew would wipe the grin clear off Stefano's face. But before he could speak, his friend resumed his interrogation.

“Did Paris cheat on you?” he asked in a solemn tone. “Is that why you broke up?”

“No, she transferred to Spelman her junior year, and the distance proved too much....” Rafael trailed off, stopping himself from saying more. What he didn't tell Stefano was that Paris had dumped him three days before his birthday and immediately started dating someone else. Some rich, good-looking clown on the football team.
It's in the past, water under the bridge,
he told himself, downing the rest of his wine cooler.
I moved on a long time ago, and never gave Paris, or her loser boyfriend, another thought.

If that's true,
his conscience said,
then why are you still bitter and resentful about your breakup? Why does your heart ache every time you see her?

“I can't believe you're still sweet on her after all this time.”

“Stefano, knock it off. I'm not sweet on Paris. I haven't seen her in years.”

“So? Who's to say she's not the one?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward expectantly. “Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe absence
does
make the heart grow fonder.”

Rafael laughed, rejecting his friend's opinion with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Love, but I'm not interested in making a connection with Paris or anyone else.”

But I wouldn't mind a few nights of carnal pleasure,
he thought as images of his ex-girlfriend bombarded his mind. Rafael couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex. Six months? A year? He told himself it didn't matter, because now that he'd reunited with his old college sweetheart his sexual drought was about to come to an abrupt end.

A grin tilted the corners of his lips. Seducing Paris was going to be more fun than playing high-stakes poker in Atlantic City. Rafael lived for the thrill of the chase, the pursuit, and he had a feeling the sexy socialite was going to make things very interesting this weekend. The only hurdle would be hooking up with Paris without everyone at the villa finding out. Rafael didn't want word of his holiday tryst getting back to his brothers, or worse, his matchmaking mother. He'd think of something, he had to, because tomorrow, when he saw Paris at breakfast, he was setting his plan in motion.

“I'm beat. I'm turning in.” Stefano stood and swiped his iPhone off the coffee table. “Tomorrow's going to be a long day, and if I doze off during the tour Cassandra will kill me!”

“Is everyone heading into the city for the sightseeing excursion?”

“And by everyone, you mean Paris, right?” He wore a wry grin. “Yeah, she's going.”

“I might tag along,” Rafael said, keeping his tone light, casual. The thought of spending the day with Paris appealed to him, but he didn't confess the truth. If his best friend knew he was feeling something for her—even just a little—he'd blab to Cassandra, and Rafael didn't want anyone to know he was interested in hooking up with his former flame. “My meeting has been pushed back to Monday, and I have nothing planned tomorrow.”

“That's great. Now you'll have time to romance Paris!”

Rafael scoffed at the suggestion. Ever since Stefano had proposed to Cassandra he seemed hell-bent on hooking him up with one of her single friends. And when he wasn't playing matchmaker he was bragging about his lady love. Stefano couldn't go five minutes without talking about how great she was, and listening to his buddy gush about his bride-to-be made Rafael feel lonelier than ever.

First my best friend finds love, and then my brothers,
he thought, releasing a deep sigh.
Coming to Venice was a bad idea. All this love and happiness is sickening.

“I'll meet you on the tennis court at 7:00 a.m.,” Stefano said, as they exited the media room. “Don't be late, or I'll send Julietta to come get you.”

“You better not, or you'll be sporting a black eye on your wedding day.”

Chuckling good-naturedly they strode down the hall and climbed the staircase.

“Good night, man.”

“Try not to snore,” Rafael teased, clapping his friend on the back. “I'm a light sleeper, and I need my rest so I can whip you in straight sets tomorrow.”

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy, it's not going to happen!”

Seconds later, Rafael opened his bedroom door, flipped on the lights and kicked off his shoes. The first thing he noticed was Julietta—sitting on the king-size bed in a flimsy lace negligee.

“I can't sleep,” she stated. Her eyes were as wide and as innocent as Bambi's, but the mischievous expression on her tanned face told another story.

“What are you doing
here?
” Rafael retorted.

“I came to see you,” she purred, flinging the blanket aside and hopping to her feet. Meeting his gaze head-on, she stalked toward him like a jaguar prowling the jungle for fresh meat. “Let's get down and dirty. I have wine, and more toys than a dominatrix!”

“I'm not interested.”

“Then I'll just have to change your mind.” Julietta reached for his belt buckle, but Rafael grabbed her hands. “What are you doing? Don't you want to have a good time?”

“It's late, and I have work to do.”

“You don't want me to stay?”

“No, sorry, I don't.”

Her smile fell away, and a sneer stained her glossy red lips. “I don't need this crap. I'm superpopular here, and there are plenty of guys who'd kill to be with me,” she argued, propping her hands on her wide, full hips. “I was the third runner up in last year's Miss Italia contest, and I have more Twitter followers than the Dalai Lama....”

To end her rant, Rafael opened the bedroom door. “Good night, Julietta. Sleep well.”

“If you change your mind, which I
know
you will, I'll be skinny-dipping in the pool.”

Rafael watched the blue-eyed temptress slink down the staircase, convinced that things couldn't get any worse. But as he turned away, he spotted Paris standing at the other end of the hall, staring at him. He wanted to tell her about what
didn't
happen with Julietta, but he could tell by the malevolent glare on Paris's face that she thought he was the scum of the earth. But he had to say something, had to defend himself. Before Rafael could utter a word she marched into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Chapter 4

O
n Friday morning downtown Venice was clogged with noisy tourists, and flamboyant street performers hoping to make a quick buck, but Rafael couldn't keep his eyes off Paris. Standing in the middle of the world-famous Piazza San Marco was a mind-blowing experience, one that should have been captivating enough to hold his attention, but it didn't. Not with Paris around.

She looks like an angel,
Rafael thought, admiring her on the sly. Her oversize sunglasses gave her a youthful air, her crimson lips held a dazzling smile and her sleeveless white dress played up her pear-shaped figure.

Yeah, a naughty angel you'd love to see naked,
his conscience taunted.
Quit gawking at her. You're better than that. You're a Morretti, remember?

But Rafael didn't turn away. He lacked the willpower and fortitude it required. Paris was dressed to kill, and her traffic-stopping curves made him hot under the collar
and
below the belt. Diamonds dangled from her ears, neck and wrists, and her ankle bracelet drew his gaze down her long legs time and time again.

“The Piazza San Marcos is one of the most beautiful places in Italy, and people travel from far and wide to admire the magnificent works of Antonio Canova, Giovanni Bellini and Vittore Carpaccio.”

Rafael tore his gaze away from Paris, and turned his attention to the middle-aged tour guide with the receding hairline. He tried to listen to what Mr. Esposito was saying, but all he could think about was kissing Paris with all the passion coursing through his veins. He wouldn't act on his feelings, knew better than to make a move on her in public, but dammit if he didn't want to.

That morning at breakfast he'd scored a seat beside her. But unfortunately Paris had spent more time chatting with the other groomsmen than talking to him. And when they did speak their conversation was plagued with tension and awkward silences. No matter, Rafael told himself. He wasn't giving up. They'd had something special once, and he liked the idea of having a holiday fling with Paris in his beloved hometown. In fact, he couldn't think of a better way to kick off the New Year. He was determined to connect with his old college sweetheart and nothing was going to stop him.

Raising his water bottle to his lips, he took a long, refreshing drink. The sky was clear, the breeze thick and the air was filled with the scent of sweet-smelling flowers. People were everywhere—snapping pictures, feeding the pigeons, wandering the cobblestone streets and pushing and shoving like kids waiting in line at the water fountain. As Rafael moped the sweat from his brow he decided he'd had enough excitement for one day.

He choked down more water. After hours of walking from one ancient monument to the next, he was ready to head back to the villa for some R & R. He'd been up since dawn, and after working on his presentation, he'd played tennis with Stefano and swam in the heated pool.

Checking his gold wristwatch, Rafael was surprised to see that it was midday. After lunch, the group was heading over to the fashion district. He had no desire to go shopping, and had better things to do with his time, but knew it was a bad idea to ditch the group. If he did, one of the other groomsmen would make a move on Paris, and there was no way in hell Rafael was letting that happen. He'd have to suck it up, and bide his time.

“Are we going on a gondola ride today?” asked one of Stefano's short, plump aunts.

The tour guide wore a polite smile. “No, ma'am, I'm afraid not.”

“But it's on the top of my bucket list, and I may never come to Italy again!”

Everyone in the group laughed. The bride and groom's friends and family—sixty-five loud, boisterous people in all—entered the Campanile, the city's oldest and tallest building. But Rafael noticed Paris ducking into one of the nearby bakeries.

Curious, he entered the
pasticceria
and took off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. A fruity, spicy aroma sweetened the air, stirring his senses and rousing his appetite. With its sultry lights, timber chandeliers and glass sculptures, the shop looked more like an art gallery than a pastry store. Italian music was playing, and the servers looked as chic as the decor.

Rafael looked around, but couldn't find Paris anywhere. As he sat down on one of the raised, wooden stools, he spotted a buxom waitress climbing the circular, white staircase. Rafael contemplated heading upstairs to scope out the second floor, but decided against it. Trailing Paris was a bad idea. They had plenty of time to get reacquainted, and since he didn't want her to think he was stalking her, he'd hang out on the main floor, have a cup of coffee and watch the world go by from his window seat.

His cell phone chirped, alerting Rafael that he had a new text message. He took his iPhone out of his backpack and punched in his password. Reading the message from Gerald Stanley gave him a surge of adrenaline. His security advisor was one step closer to single-handedly cracking the case.

I just got off the phone with my source at Miami PD. Gracie O'Conner has no alibi for the night of the arson, and neither does her ex-con brother.

Rafael was pleased with the work Gerald had done, and sent a short, quick response.

The suspects in the case were obvious, so why hadn't the police made any arrests? he wondered. Why were they taking their sweet-ass time bringing the perpetrators to justice? Gracie O'Conner, Nicco's former assistant, was a scheming manipulator with an ax to grind. And although she was a petite, soft-spoken woman, Rafael's gut feeling was that she was involved in the crime. But Gracie wasn't the only one who hated his family. His father had made a lot of enemies over the years, and Rafael wouldn't be surprised if one of his dad's old business rivals was out to destroy him.

His cell phone rang, and the sound yanked Rafael out of his troubled thoughts. He didn't recognize the number, but saw the area code, and knew the person was calling from Washington, D.C. “This is Rafael Morretti.”

“Hello, Mr. Morretti,” said a husky female voice. “My name is Danica Lyons.”

The name didn't ring a bell, so he waited for the woman to explain who she was. It was 5:00 a.m. on the East Coast, and Rafael couldn't image why someone he didn't know would be calling him first thing in the morning. After a moment of silence, he asked the question at the front of his mind. “How did you get my phone number?”

“It doesn't matter. I'd like to speak to you privately, and the sooner the better.”

Rafael frowned. He turned her words over in his head, but they still didn't make any sense. “I'm sorry, Ms. Lyons, but I'm afraid I don't understand what this is pertaining to.”

“I'd rather not discuss the matter on the phone,” she said in a crisp tone. “I'd like to come to your office tomorrow to speak in person.”

“I'm out of the country, and won't be back in Washington until January 3.”

“Don't play games with me, Mr. Morretti, or things will get real ugly for you.”

Taken aback by her abrupt rudeness, Rafael stared down at the phone, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, struggling to control his temper. “Because if you are, this conversation is over.”

“I'm not threatening you, Mr. Morretti. I'm simply stating a fact.”

Rafael struggled to not lose his cool. Keeping his head was paramount, so he took a deep breath and cleared his voice of emotion. “Call my office, and my secretary will book you an appointment.”

“Very well. I look forward to meeting you.”

What the hell?
Rafael hit the end button and immediately dialed Gerald's number to tell him about his bizarre conversation with Danica Lyons. He suspected she knew something about the arson investigation, so he asked Gerald to do a background check on her. Everyone everywhere wanted to get their hands on the Crime Stoppers reward, and although Rafael didn't put much faith in the Washington PD solving the case, he refused to leave any stone unturned.

Seconds later, when he'd ended his phone call with Gerald, Rafael felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had nothing to worry about. By the end of the week he'd have a detailed, comprehensive report on Danica Lyons, and he was looking forward to reading every salacious word.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and slowly perused the circular glass cases in the upscale pastry shop. After ordering a latté, he bought gourmet chocolates for his mom, Italian cookies for his father and amaretto brownies for his brothers, and paid to have them delivered to the villa.

At the cash register, Rafael spotted Paris. She was standing in front of the elaborate cake display, snapping pictures of it with her cell phone. Tapping her foot, she swayed to the beat of the music, rocking her hips provocatively from side to side. Her moves were hypnotic, and like a drunk guzzling Cristal, he was hooked. She was close enough to touch and caress, but instead of reaching out to stroke her sinuous curves, he looked away, stuffing his hands deep into the pocket of his blue jeans.

He picked up on the whispered conversation of two dark-haired men nearby as they pointed at Paris, obviously admiring her beauty. His chest automatically puffed up with pride. An odd response, considering she wasn't his girlfriend, but Rafael couldn't help the way he felt. Nothing had changed. If anything, Paris was more captivating and appealing. She was as vivacious as ever, and everywhere she went people gravitated to her. As he continued to watch her sway and groove to the music, he could see why.

Rafael glowered menacingly at the cocksure businessmen, who were speaking in rapid-fire Italian. His hands balled into tight fists and his heartbeat thundered inside the walls of his chest. The men were discussing how to lure Paris into bed, and even joked about filming the encounter and posting it online. Their conversation was none of his business, but Rafael felt compelled to say something. Had to before he lost his temper and pummeled them both into the ground.

Rafael spoke to the men in an authoritative voice, and scowled for good measure

Back off, fellas. The lady's with me?
his conscience repeated.
How original!

“W-we're sorry,” stammered the man with the mustache. “We didn't mean any disrespect. We were just joking around.”

The two took off through the side door, and Rafael sighed in relief. Crisis averted. Nothing wrong with telling a little white lie, he decided, tasting his coffee. It was either that or lose Paris to someone else, and he wasn't about to let that happen. Rafael didn't want anyone to ruin his chances with her—

Your chances of what?
his conscience questioned.

Paris must have sensed him behind her, because she glanced over her shoulder, then hit him with a pointed look. But when she spoke her tone was rife with amusement. “See anything you like?”

Do. I. Ever!
His mouth watered and his temperature soared.
The view of her big, beautiful backside made an erection swell inside his jeans. Her eyes lit up like stars when she laughed, and she smelled sweeter than the desserts inside the pastry shop. “The truffles look good,” he said casually, gesturing at the wall behind her. “I think I might get a few packages for my soon-to-be-sister-in-law. Angela loves chocolate almost as much as she loves Demetri!”

“So, the rumors
are
true.” Paris dropped her cell phone inside her purse and gave him her undivided attention. “Your brothers found love, and are both getting married next year. How exciting! Is it a double wedding? When are they tying the knot? Where is the venue?”

His jaw stiffened like clay, but he managed a weak smile. He didn't want to talk about his brothers or their future wives. Not here, not now. But if he changed the subject Paris would think he was rude. Or worse, jealous, and he wasn't.

Rafael averted his gaze and raked a hand over his hair. He tried not to think about how lonely he was, how empty he felt inside. These days he hardly saw his brothers, and when he did they droned on and on about their fiancées. Especially Nicco. He was the worst perpetrator. He adored Jariah and her six-year-old daughter, Ava, and over the past three months the trio had developed a strong bond, one he talked about nonstop. At times it was funny, endearing even, but at other times it got on Rafael's nerves.

He was happy his brothers had found their soul mates, but he didn't want to discuss their love lives. He was dying to know more about Paris—where she lived, what she did for work, if she was dating anyone—and he didn't want to waste time chatting about wedding nonsense. “I'm the wrong person to ask. I don't even remember when the wedding is, and I'm the best man!” he joked good-naturedly.

“Are you sure Nicco's ready to get married?”

Her question surprised him, gave him pause. “Yeah, why?”

“Because I was at the grand opening of Dolce Vita Atlanta and he was flirting with everybody!”

Rafael chuckled. “He wasn't engaged back then. Jariah started working for Morretti Incorporated last summer, and apparently they hit it off immediately. Nicco says it was love at first sight, but the jury is still out on that one!”

“So do you like her?”

“Yes, of course.” He thought back to the first time he'd met Jariah, and cringed inwardly when he remembered the unflattering things he'd said about her to Nicco. His brother had always had horrible taste in women, and he'd feared that Jariah was another gold digger. Thankfully, she wasn't, and the more time Rafael spent with the hardworking single mother, the more he admired her. “Any more questions, Katie Couric?”

“Excuse me for trying to make conversation,” she said with a laugh. “I was surprised to see you get on the tour bus this morning. Aren't you supposed to be doing business in Tuscany?”

Rafael wore a puppy dog face. “You're keeping tabs on me. I'm touched.”